


chicago chique

by kyeoesc



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art School, College, Diva San, Drinking, Fluff, Introvert Jongho, It's Softer Than You Think, M/M, Maybe I should be the ambassador of Chicago, Photographer Jongho, Recreational Drug Use, Risky Yeosang, Romance, Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyeoesc/pseuds/kyeoesc
Summary: Jongho dreamt of doing big things in life, but fate brought him to a regular old state school where his programme was only a little bit better than mediocre. When he goes into the city to meet his long term crush Yeosang, he falls in love, not just with the scene, but also with Yeosang's craving for adventure.Warning: This fic will make you think I miss Chicago. I do. Get ready for unnecessarily long descriptions of places.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	chicago chique

The first time Jongho smoked a cigarette was at a college party he was almost certain he was accidentally invited to. He was still hesitant about underage drinking, much less smoked a ciggie, but someone had just handed it to him, and the cute boy from his class named Kang Yeosang was offering to light it. How was he supposed to refuse? He had always been curious, but he didn't know it tasted so bitter, and void. He finished the whole thing in 5 minutes, inhaling it like air, hoping to feel  _ something _ . He hadn't touched another since.

The first time Jongho smoked a joint was near the end of their final semester. That night there were five of them up in the dorm hallways, their laptops charged by hallway ports, papers and mounting boards and x-acto knives and cork-backed metal rulers and craft mats sprawled on the carpeted floor. Every time someone needed to walk by all five of them simultaneously raised their materials, letting them pass, then someone would briefly wipe down any dirt that was left behind before they dropped everything back down. It was past midnight when Yeosang let out a relieved sigh, saying he's ready to go back to the print shop and asked if anyone else needed things printed. Three hands waved in the air, murmuring that they'll email him the files. Jongho's blurry sight landed on Yeosang for a few seconds, refocusing when the other turned to him.

"You have anything to print?" The boy's voice was deep and rumbling in contrast to his delicate frame.

"I think I'll go with you," Jongho murmured tiringly. "Need to refresh my brain."

The print shop was in the art department building, which stood across the road from their dormitory, suitably accessible to all the art students who took classes there and boarded that entire hall. There weren't many of them, but enough to make their group a noticeable niche in their prep college. As soon as they left the building, Yeosang took out a roll from his sweater pocket. Jongho watched as he lit it, the orange flame lighting the tip of his nose while the street light lit his carefully structured face, bones and flesh sculpting sharp brows, menacingly beautiful almond eyes, a round and high nose, cheekbones of apples, and soft thin lips. Yeosang gave Jongho a glance.

"You mind if we stay out here for a minute? Need to take off some of that pressure."

"Yea sure," Jongho said airily, not wanting to seem uncool, or anything like that. Maybe he just wanted a chance to stare at Yeosang's face. They stood near the stairs that lead to the side entrance of the building, leaning on hand railings, Yeosang at the very bottom step, Jongho near the middle on the opposite end. He started to realize that the smoke smelled different from regular tobacco that he usually sniffed from passing strangers. 

"It's cannabis," Yeosang mumbled through the smoke that escaped his lips. "If you're wondering."

_ Fuck I'm so obvious, _ Jongho thought to himself.  _ Okay, so how do I play this down? _

"Oh yea?" Jongho said airily again. "Always wanted to try that."

_ Wait, what? _

"Do you... want to try this one?" Yeosang asked slowly. 

"Um, sure," Jongho replied, leaning forward to accept Yeosang's giving hand. Jongho felt a weird sense of dejavu. He took a hit and concluded that it wasn't as bitter as tobacco, but smelled funkier.  _ Maybe it was the lack of tar and the abundance of dried leaves that are 25% psychoactive chemicals, genius, _ Jongho told himself. He returned the joint, enjoying the feeling of Yeosang watching him more than anything. The white of Yeosang’s eyes were red, visible even in the lowly lit night.

"It'll help you loosen up," Yeosang told, taking a last hit before putting out the end with the metal hand railing. He kept the roll back in his pocket, gesturing with his head "let's go" to Jongho. Jongho trailed behind the other, wondering if he felt any different. Maybe he smoked it wrong.

Columbia College of Chicago had a 98% acceptance rate, and half of their alumnae land jobs in Chicago city. Although most of Jongho's classmates decided to go there, he wanted a challenge. He tried for SCAD and SAIC and RSID. He thought, why not? He had a pretty good CGPA, better than his classmates at least. As his classmates were getting acceptance emails from Columbia, he was getting rejection emails. The semester was ending and everyone was clearing their things from the dorms when Jongho's roommate's friend walked into Jongho's room unannounced, expecting the roommate to be around.

"Oh hey Jongho," she called. "What are you up to?"

"Just browsing colleges," Jongho mumbled, not really in the mood to entertain the girl.

"You decided on which you're going to yet?" she asked, oblivious to Jongho's 'leave me alone' aura.

"I've only gotten accepted to Columbia, but I'm trying to see if there's any better options." He had applied just to prove to himself that it was  _ that  _ easy. 

"Have you tried state schools yet? I heard some of them have rolling admissions until the summer."

Jongho found a state school that had a somewhat highly ranked (well, ranked) photography program. It was a 76% acceptance rate and Jongho was accepted. His parents were happy to pay out-of-state tuition fees, compared to fancy center-city private college ones.

"Living expenses are so expensive!" his mother exclaimed. "Plus, you'll love the countryside! It's so charming."

Jongho stared out to the cornfields and horse stables that he passed on the bus ride from his apartment to campus. Well, his mother was right about cheap living. Horse riding wasn't exactly Jongho's idea of exciting college life though. He was also the only kid from the art department of his prep college that made it to this school. The rest were agri kids, who were nice enough, but Jongho knew none of them and barely met them, their classes being on either ends of the campus most of the time.

At the end of his first year, one of his classmates from prep who had fallen trap to the private college city living, Choi San, texted him.

_ hey do you wanna come over for the summer? _

Jongho stared at the text for a long time. He actually had planned a long west coast trip with his cousins for the summer. He hadn't bought his flight ticket home, but if he rented a car instead he could drop the car in Chicago and spend a few days there before leaving for home. Also, definitely just a side note but Choi San was rooming with Yeosang, so Jongho had no choice but to agree.

_ oh n ys said if u could, try to get some weed too. he heard iowa weed is cheap, everything in chicago is expensive _

_ Everything in Chicago is expensive, everything in Ames is cheap _ , Jongho thought bitterly. He felt a slight annoyance at the request, mostly because he hadn't been smoking since he got here, and now he has to bug classmates and roommates about weed whereabouts. San kept going about how Jongho "doesn't have to if he didn't want to", and after texting a total of three friends that he thought was nice enough as well as social enough to know where he could buy them without a prescription and failing, Jongho decided he wouldn't put himself too far out just to get his crush his weed.

The morning drive to Chicago, Jongho felt a sense of calm. The countryside’s nice, but getting out of there and finally going somewhere unknown and possibly dangerous excited Jongho. Finally, maybe he can feel like he's living in the next few days. He drove for five hours, and as he got closer to the city Jongho started seeing the CTA train tracks alongside the highway, the road branching to five lanes. He could see the skyline from afar, taking it in as traffic picks up and he challenges changing lanes at the very last minute, his own mistake of not being more attentive of Google Maps telling him where to go. He finally finds the Hertz parking at Union Station, his legs wobbly as he leaves the car. Five hours is a long time, he realized. He dropped the car keys and looked through his Google Maps again, trying to look for a way to get on the Red line, as San had texted him to. He gets on the L, wheeled luggage and all. He watches the tall blue-silver buildings turn into brick buildings, graffiti painted on most walls; he was in Uptown Chicago.

  
He stopped at Wilson (as San had told him to) and looked for a road where he’ll just start walking straight until he finds Yeosang outside an apartment, waiting for him. Jongho was getting jitters thinking about seeing his two friends again after so long, but he was more concerned about getting lost. 

_ im on sunnyside _

_ ok ys’s already outside _   
  


The text didn’t comfort Jongho as much as he had hoped. He kept walking, luggage rolling beside him, making noises as its plastic wheels grit on the concrete walkway.  _ Maybe I should’ve just used a duffel instead, _ he thought. Soon he saw the familiar silhouette of the man who had sat in the same class as him for two years. Yeosang was wearing a black t-shirt and pink and white striped cotton shorts that stopped halfway down his thighs, a cigarette in hand, smoke flying across his sharp features, his hair blond and overgrown, swept behind his ears to reveal his birthmark, one arm resting against his chest and tucked in. As soon as he caught sight of Jongho he waved his arm up from across the road, smiling. Jongho raised a hand back, smiling as well. He crosses the road, watching for cars, and taking the opportunity to look away and inhaling a breath or two after seeing the man. He was always so effortlessly gorgeous. 

“Hey,” Yeosang greeted. Jongho still can't get used to his deep voice. “You’ve come a long way.”

“Not that long,” Jongho smiled back. “You look great. Good.”

“Thanks,” Yeosang said. He gave Jongho a glance as he rummaged his pants pockets for his keys. “You look… a bit tired.”

“Driving for five hours does that to you.” 

Yeosang proceeded to enter the apartment building, then led the other to the elevator by the entrance. It didn’t take long for one of the two metal doors to open, and Jongho walked in after Yeosang, watching the 13 floor buttons, the 8th floor lighting up red when Yeosang touched it from the panel on his side.

“You can take a nap after this,” Yeosang told. “Oh and San made lunch. You hungry?”

“Yea, I’m starved,” Jongho huffed. He felt so stiff and awkward next to lean-bodied Yeosang, whose posture wasn’t great but it made the man look like he jumped out from the album cover of your local indie band. Jongho had to stop himself from staring the entire 6 seconds they were in the elevator.

“They just renovated the elevators,” Yeosang told as they walked down the hallway of the 8th floor. “It used to be one of those old ones, with the scissor gates and you had to open them up yourself? It took forever to use. By the middle of fall San and I kept complaining about being late for class because of it. Christmas break, they started work on it.”

“Whoa, you led a revolution I see,” Jongho cooed as Yeosang unlocked the door of apartment number 811. Yeosang smiled back.

“The most important kind.” He opened the door, letting the smell of pasta and carbonara sauce seep through the door. Jongho’s mouth watered, trying his best to keep his stomach from rumbling. He’s had a total of four packets of oat bars and one venti-sized iced americano since morning, and whatever it was that San was cooking was very much needed fuel. Yeosang took off his flip flops by the door, Jongho followed, taking off his timberlands. “Jongho’s here!”

“Choi Jongho!” San called from the kitchen, his voice echoing. There was a wall behind a flimsy shoe rack near the entrance, and San popped out from behind it, his face bright and smiley. “Welcome to mi casa!”

“Sorry for the mess,” Yeosang mumbled as he picked up some clothes off the floor. The apartment was small; the wall behind the shoe rack barely hid the kitchen from the entrance, and past it was the living space. They had one desk in the corner, a door leading to the bathroom to the left of the entrance, and next to it a door leading to the only bedroom. Two windows let light into the living area, and Jongho saw small potted plants on its sills, old radiators rusting just under them. The entire apartment was wood paneled, which chilled Jongho’s feet for a bit. He was used to his carpeted apartments. Yeosang threw the clothes into the bedroom, its door wide open. Then he sat on the thick comforters laying on the living room floor, flipping through Hulu on the TV they had on the floor across from him. He looked up at Jongho as he awkwardly stood by the entrance. “You can put your stuff in the room. Are you into any shows?”

“Not on Hulu, Netflix,” Jongho managed to breathe out as he undressed his jacket and threw it on the luggage that he had placed in the bedroom. They had one queen mattress on the floor, the sheet pulling away on the sides loosely. Clothes were everywhere, and someone’s laptop was left charging on one wall. The windows’ blinds were down, not letting much light in.

“Netflix sucks,” Yeosang called from the living room. “They took out all the good shows.”

“They have FMA and that’s good enough for me,” Jongho said, walking out of the room.

“Dweeb,” Yeosang teased. 

“You’re the animation geek,” Jongho spat back, taking a seat next to the boy.

“I’m so tired of animating stuff I don’t want to look at it outside of class,” Yeosang groaned.

“Alright all done. Spaghetti carbonara for the big boy,” San smiled, dimples deeply etched into his cheeks.

“I didn’t know you were suddenly a chef, Choi San.”

San pointed at the empty glass jar of Prego sitting on the counter. “I got a little help. Yeosang can you get drinks from the fridge?”

“Do you know this show?” Yeosang pointed at the TV with a remote before getting up. Jongho took a glance at the screen to see a ruffled up white man talking to people who appeared to be his children, who looked like they were angry at him. Jongho shook his head. “Shameless. It’s pretty good.”

“It’s based on a British show but I couldn’t catch what they were saying,” San said, cracking open his Bud Light. Jongho chuckled at the statement. “So we watch the American one.”

“I don’t mind.”

They ate in silence, only the TV talking for a bit before Jongho started to get bored. It wasn’t the pilot episode and he didn’t really know what was going on.

“So, do you guys sleep out here?” he asked.

“We sleep where there’s place to sleep,” Yeosang replied, taking a sip of his beer. “You should’ve seen the apartment on finals week. Well, San practically took over the place. I slept on campus a lot.”

“We’re trying to look for a better place, you know, so we can each have our own rooms. The rent here is like $1400, and it’s not even that nice,” San mumbled in between chews.

“The location’s pretty okay but it’s still out of ways from campus,” Yeosang said. “But yea the apartment itself is a dump. How’s housing in Ames?”

“Pretty good,” Jongho hesitated. “A lot of apartments cater to students so you can rent out a room within an apartment. My room’s part of a four bedroom two bathroom apartment, costs me less than $500 a month.”

“For your own room? Sounds pretty good,” San mumbled again. “Is it near campus?”

“Naah it’s kinda far but buses are frequent. Well, during the day. Not much nightlife if you don’t have a car. Or you’ll have to Uber.”

“You have a lot of nights out, Jongho?” Yeosang smirked.

“You don’t?”

“We don’t go out much,” San laughed. “Only on occasions. Everything costs a ton.”

“Sometimes student perks are good, we get a bus pass, and there’s shows on campus and stuff,” Yeosang added. “But everything else is like a hundred bucks to watch a stand up comedian babble for an hour. So we just go to our friends’ parties and stuff for fun.”

“So…” Jongho hesitated again, fumbling on his pull-tab. “What are we gonna do this week?”

“Oh don’t you worry little bub,” San teased. “Your tour guide’s already mapped out some events going on for these next few days.”

Jongho didn’t think that the trip needed a runway outfit, because Jongho didn’t bring any. He was in his usual t-shirt and denim jacket, paired with black pants under timberlands. Choi San on the other hand, was wearing a white mesh t-shirt with a tank top underneath, showing off his lean body muscles, dress pants with dress shoes, and fancy Gucci sunglasses resting on his nose. 

“Are we going to Fashion Week?” Jongho asked, not sounding sarcastic enough.

“That’s in New York, silly!” San huffed.

“He’s been modelling for some fashion majors,” Yeosang told solemnly, fidgeting with his hair as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. “Suddenly he’s a fashion diva.”

Jongho observed Yeosang’s white sweatshirt and washed out dark jeans pairing, grabbing a red beanie to cover up his overgrown hair.  _ What an awkward set of people we are, _ Jongho thought.

“There’s nothing wrong with dressing up a little. After all, we’re heading into the city, baby.”

The group dropped by a nearby chic cafe that San claimed has the best cup’o in town. Jongho took that offer, and San had a point, his friend behind the counter knows how to make coffee black. The two chatted about coffee a minute too long that Jongho and Yeosang had run out of small talk topics. Yeosang threw his paper latte cup in the trash a bit too loudly, making San startle, the arm he had resting on the counter shift.

“We’ll talk later, Wooyoung,” he told the other. Yeosang walked out and Jongho followed, throwing his paper cup as well. San trailed behind them, chattering on about the barista. “He’s so cool, he knows so much about all these designer coffees. He told me he went to a cupping last weekend. Guess that’s the coffee version of wine tasting. He’s from Chicago, you know. Born and raised here. His family home is in Lincoln Park. He’s such a local!”

“The boy complimented his designer bag once and suddenly everything about him is great,” Yeosang grumbled.

“Don’t worry, San, if you’re lucky maybe today will go so badly we can go back to the cafe and you can chatter with him for the rest of the day,” Jongho said sarcastically again. “What time do they close?”

“7, not that it matters,” San pouted. They had walked to the train station, using their prepaid cards to tap through the gates. “Oh well. We’ve got lots to do and only a few days left to do it! First things first, Choi Jongho, have you ever been to Navy Pier?”

“It’s literally my first time here,” Jongho replied.

A 20 minute train ride and a bus ride later, they found themselves taking tourist pictures of themselves with Lake Michigan. They saw The Bean, and Jongho took a picture with the SAIC sign across the road from Millennium Park. San took all of Jongho’s tourist pictures while Yeosang watched; the two had visited these locations within their first month in Chicago. Jongho had a film camera with him, not saving shots, knowing he had five rolls of backup film back at the apartment. He took pictures of the bustling city; the traffic lights backed by tan colored buildings, the crowd walking in front of him, the bridges crossing the river, the kebabs they bought for snacks. 

San led them to the Chicago Art Institute, where Yeosang and him posed to mimic the famous scene from Ferris Beuler’s Day Off while Jongho took their pictures. They then headed to quieter parts of the city, looking for smaller galleries. One gallery was filled with paintings that ranged from poster sized scenes to larger-than-life stills, all framed in gold painted wooden frames. Another had their featured sculptures evenly spaced out in the front, while near the back of the gallery the sculptures sat closer to each other, the room lit dimly. The pieces had obviously lost popularity, or maybe their older works, chronologically arranged perhaps. The next gallery was a photography showroom, which San thought Jongho would enjoy, but it was mostly portraits of ladies hanging their arms out a window sill, looking out longingly. Jongho wished the photographer had more variety in subjects, since his lighting was great.  _ If this guy can make it in the city, maybe I can too, _ Jongho thought to himself. 

“Early dinner?” Yeosang suggested as they left the gallery building. It was on the third floor and they had to take an elevator to the actual showroom. Jongho felt like every building in Chicago had an elevator. They walked until they found a pizza house, customers consisting of mostly young adults in big groups. They fit right in. 

After ordering one Chicago style deep dish regular sized pepperoni and another of their house specialty topping, the three sipped on their Bud Lights and looked through their phones at the photos they took. Yeosang glanced over at Jongho's screen. 

"That one's pretty cool," he commented, gesturing at a picture that Jongho took of San across the road from The Chicago Tribune. It was a low shot, emphasizing San's long legs enveloped by his loose dress pants, San looking up at the sky to his side, his jaw looking sharp, his nose high, sunglasses on, hands in pocket. Jongho smiled and popped open Instagram, uploading the picture on his account. He left the caption at "chique 👽".

"What's chique?" Yeosang asked.

"Like, chic?" San asked from across the table, not knowing what the two were looking at.

"That's c-h-i-c," Yeosang spelled out. "What's c-h-i-q-u-e?"

"Oh, that's how you spell it?" Jongho asked. The two looked at Jongho without saying a word, waiting for a punchline. Slightly embarrassed, Jongho chuckled and chucked his phone away. "Any plans for tonight?"

"Let's just head back for today, I'm tired," San stretched his arms. So they ate their pizza and talked about college and assignments and professors. San was considering minoring in Apparel and Textile Design, while Yeosang had some people recruiting him to animate for some games. He was reluctant since he liked having some time out for himself but he said it could look good on his resume.

"Plus, if I don't animate for video games, or maybe TV shows, I'll be animating advertisements, and that's boring."

"There's a third option, other than going corporate or joining a studio. You could go indie," San waged. "More free time. Your pay is your pay."

"Risky though," Jongho piped in. "Unless you know people who'd pay you. Musicians, writers."

"Studio's probably the safest bet," Yeosang agreed. "It's the in-between; a solid place to lean on but they don't control creativity input."

"I guess you're planning on going freelancing," Jongho said, looking at San.

"It's too early to tell," San smiled, raising his beer. "We're still freshmen until fall so let's enjoy being stupid child-adults for now."

The other two clinked their drinks with San’s, glancing at each other with a smile. Jongho liked looking at Yeosang smiling. He didn't have dimples like San and himself, but his smile was pure, and it made two little apples on his cheeks pop up, his round herbivore teeth yellowing from the smoking arranged in straight lines. And his eyes. When he looked at Jongho it made him freeze, solidifying his heart or else it might jump out of his chest. Jongho had tried to keep eye contact but he had always failed, his own pupils darting away, afraid it’ll reveal everything he felt about Yeosang then and there. The eyes are the windows to one's soul, after all. 

They took the train back and by the time they arrived at their station it was past 8. San pouted as he glanced at the clock on his phone screen. Jongho only smirked, observing the other. Back in the apartment Yeosang cracked a beer and smoked by the window while waiting for San to finish showering. He had put on some deep house music on his laptop, speakers blaring from the top of his desk. Jongho was playing with his phone while lying on the mattress in the room when he heard the music. He wanted to talk to Yeosang, his heart skipping a beat just from the thought. He got up and left his phone on the mattress, heading to the refrigerator for his own can of beer. He sat next to Yeosang on the sill, smiling at the other. Yeosang gave Jongho a smile too before looking out at the scenery below them. The roads were quiet despite the scatter of people walking along it, trees along the sidewalks green with leaves of spring, apartment buildings painted maroon and tan and orange and beige. Jongho wondered what the scenery was like during the winter.

"You like it here? In the city?" Jongho asked.

"It's good. Fun. Lot's of things to do, so little time to do it." He took a breath of his rolled tobacco. "How do you like it so far?"

"Galleries are fun," Jongho commented. "Imagine having all that inspiration a neighbourhood away."

"Not many galleries in Ames?"

"It's different," Jongho shook his head. "The galleries switch exhibits every week. Sometimes they're just student works. Here, it's back to back to back of galleries with different artists, different mediums, and you have no idea who all these people are." Jongho took a sip of his beer. "And the museums. And cultural centers, and the art institute. And freaking Blick Art Materials. Two whole floors of it." Yeosang laughed. "When I stepped into that pizza house, it looked like everyone there could've been a hipster graphic designer."

"Some of them could've been hipster hairstylists. Or a hipster bartender."

"You get my point. I don't know if I belong but, I want to be here."

"Hm," Yeosang mused, looking out again. "The city calls for you."

"And so it does."

"I didn't wanna go because you were coming but," Yeosang started. "There's a party tomorrow at our friend's. You wanna go?"

"Oh," Jongho felt his heart pound in his chest. He didn't know what to say, hoping the excitement didn't show on his face.

"Yea, alcohol and substance abuse and loud music, we have it all," Yeosang smirked. “Sounds good to you? Could be fun, if you’re into that city life.”

“Okay, yea sure,” Jongho half-whispered. Truthfully, he was a bit scared when Yeosang mentioned substance abuse, but how can he say no to Yeosang, really? But this time, it wasn’t just Yeosang suggesting something that he didn’t want to do. It was something he didn’t think would fall in his lap, perfectly, waiting for him to pick up and take the opportunity. That night Jongho felt like he was up for at least an hour before finally falling asleep from the excitement and nerves. 

San didn’t have anything planned that day, tapping on his phone as he looked for simple recipes to cook for lunch. Yeosang told Jongho that the outdoor pool was open and that he could go for a swim if he wanted, so Jongho went. Yeosang stayed behind; some friends had a place in their Valorant team and he took up the offer. Jongho had swam for about over an hour before Yeosang came down with San. Jongho felt his face flush when Yeosang looked at him from bottom up, realizing his chest was bare. He threw his towel over his torso, shivering in effect of the chilly wind passing through.

“Do you wanna go to the beach?” San smiled, raising an eyebrow cheekily. 

Wilson Beach was a walk away from their apartment. Jongho felt like it took forever but the other two seem unbothered, crossing roads and low underpasses like they did it everyday. As they walked under one of the underpasses the three grew quiet, passing tents owned by homeless people, who were quietly asking for spare change in unwashed clothes, coughs echoing. As they walked further away from the underpass, Yeosang turned to smile at Jongho. 

“It’s not Chicago if there’s no homeless people.”

“I feel kinda bad for them,” San said. “Sometimes you just wonder how they get there.”

Jongho kept quiet. He wasn’t used to it, and he had never thought about the matter, so he refrained from giving an opinion. They were just people, after all. 

The beach was a flat ground of sand with patches of grasses, the edges wedged with stone, making a border between it and the lake. The yellow NO SWIMMING sign shone bright in the sun, sending the message clearly to all. Sweat had dripped down Jongho's back, absorbed by the band of his swimming trunks, but the view was worth it. The lake was calm and blue, endless. When he looked down on it the water looked dark, unknowing of what was swimming in it. A cool wind swept Jongho's hair back, drying it slightly. He was grateful that he had his t-shirt on now. The sky was clear except for a few thin lines of clouds. He knew it was the same sky that he looked up on late evenings in Ames after a tiring day of class, dark and cold. It was comforting, to know that the world was so big that everything felt so far away, but small enough to know that they all shared the same sky, the same air. 

"Hey, an ice cream trolley," San announced. They turned to see a middle aged Mexican man behind an ice box sized trolley, sweating under his cap, smiling as he handed children ice cream cones. "Yeosang, did you bring your wallet?"

"Yea. Let's get some ice cream."

Jongho chose a lime popsicle, San an ice cream sandwich. Yeosang's eyes browsed the options for a while, finally choosing a Sonic shaped popsicle. They smirked at each other, already anticipating the horror. Yeosang paid for the ice cream then ripped the wrapper, revealing an oddly shaped ice cream pop. A blue head with three spikes down its back and a horn-looking spike on the top, and white splotch to make its eyes, a blue dot to make its snout, and a skin-coloured bottom to make its mouth, a wiggly line of chocolate making its smile. What threw them off was the pupils made out of off-brand green M&M's that were out of line from the white of the eye, sitting on what would be Sonic’s forehead. They laughed at the spectacle before biting into their ice creams. 

"You should see how it looks here during the winter," San told Jongho. "The snow covers up the sand and all. Makes for a good photo."

Yeosang pulled out his phone and showed Jongho a picture of himself, posing next to the NO SWIMMING sign, face turned to the water, bundled up in a black padded jacket and Doc Martens, caramel hair blown out by the wind. A sheet of snow lay beneath his feet, all along the beach, you could barely tell it was a beach at all. Jongho looked up and imagined the strip of sand covered in snow, the cold, and the wind slapping his face like needles. It definitely would have been something else. 

Back at the apartment, San started on lunch. Jongho wanted to take a shower, but Yeosang stopped him. "Come with me, I know a place I think you'll like.”

“Are you bringing him to the 13th floor?” San asked from the kitchen.

“Yeap,” Yeosang replied. He gestured to the door at Jongho and slipped into his flip flops. Jongho borrowed San’s Nike slides. They took the elevator to the 12th floor, where Yeosang led Jongho to the other end of the hallway. He cautiously checked if the exit door was unlocked and smirked at Jongho when it was. Jongho’s heart skipped a beat.  _ I need to get used to that,  _ Jongho thought to himself. Every time felt like the first time, when it wasn’t. Jongho started to feel pathetic.

They walked out and climbed a flight of metal stairs, grills making out the steps up. Jongho tried to not look down, holding on tight to the metal hand railing. At the top of the stairs was a porch the size of their living space made out of the same grill bars that made the stairs, holes beneath Jongho’s feet, the hand railings simple bars with barely any closure. Yeosang practically skipped to one corner, while Jongho held on tight to the hand railing, trying to catch up. Yeosang turned to Jongho, lighting up another rolled tobacco. He didn’t say anything when Jongho smiled wobbly. The thing about the 13th floor is that it’s not tall enough for the ground to look illusionary, but it’s not low enough for anyone to survive a fall.

“You okay?”

“Yea, yea I’m fine!” Jongho replied, not convincingly enough. 

Yeosang looked away, out to the distance. He pointed out to his right, showing Jongho a sand strip, blocking out the lake with stones. “That was the beach.”

“Oh right,” Jongho said, nearing Yeosang. He could smell the tobacco, burnt and bitter at Jongho’s throat. “What a view.”

Jongho felt like they were at the highest point in the area; the taller buildings stood on the other side of the neighbourhood, or behind them. Jongho felt his heart beating faster, both because of the height and because his shoulder was touching Yeosang’s. They both rested their forearms on the handrailing of the porch, taking in the air. Jongho tried to think of things to talk about, but ran dry. He took a step back, bravely pulling out his phone and tried to take a picture. Yeosang turned to see what he was up to but turned back away when he saw the phone. He blew some smoke out, and Jongho stepped even further back to include the beach in the shot, his back touching the building wall now. He waited for Yeosang to blow another smoke before taking a picture of Yeosang’s curved back, looking out at the lake, the white whisper just barely visible. He was wearing a black pullover hoodie over the same shorts he wore to meet Jongho, similarly effortless, but still stunning.

Yeosang’s phone buzzed in his shorts pocket. He pulled it out and answered with a “Mm.” Jongho tapped on his phone while waiting, uploading the picture as a story on Instagram. Yeosang mumbled something else before ending the call. He turned to Jongho, who looked up.

“I need to go get some stuff for the party,” he told. “Come on, let’s head back.”

San had grilled some hotdogs for late lunch and heated up yesterday’s leftover pizza. Jongho drank a can of beer before they left, needing the fuel after the swim. San wore a blazer over a v-neck, tucked into washed out ripped jeans paired with doc boots. Yeosang threw a bomber jacket over a print t-shirt, pants and vans. Jongho looked at himself in the mirror; he had borrowed San’s leather jacket and wore a grey pullover hoodie under it, sporting it with jeans and his timbs. His dark hair had been styled so his forehead was visible. It’s the nicest he’s looked in a while, despite the sleeves of the jacket being a bit tight around his bulky arms.

They took two trains to the place. The apartment stood along the Blue line, and the three can hear the railways rumbling above them when they arrive at the door of the building. Their friend’s apartment was on the second floor, but rooms across the second and third floor of the building all had colorful lights jumping out of their wide windows framed with classic plaster patterns. The building itself looked old but refurbished, painted a clean white over all the plaster decorations, its doors and window sills wooden. San led the group to the door, walking up the narrow carpeted stairs that they met right as they entered, the music sounding even louder than before. Under the stairs a couple was making out, completely unfazed of anyone else around them, and along the stairs two people with Corona beer bottles in hand were talking, flushed faces close so they could hear each other, legs tapping along to the music. At the top of the stairs, a scatter of people stood by the table where all the snacks and drinks were set, moved all the way back to the wall. The landing led to two doors to its right and left, both doors opened, both doors filled to the entrance with people dancing to the music.

“Shit, how am I supposed to find Seonghwa in this crowd?” Yeosang cursed to himself. On the train the two had oriented Jongho on the people that would be at the party. The host was Kim Hongjoong, an Apparel and Textile major who’s megarich and hosts these parties every once in a while. This time, the event was the start of summer break. The friend that invited Yeosang and San was Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s childhood friend, also an Animation major. He was a lot more mellow, but he helped make the parties more organized. Although he wasn’t as rich, his family’s influence in the entertainment industry made Hongjoong’s family treat him like their own son. Their apartments were next to each other like this, so it was easy to make the parties happen. It’s also easy to assume that they were probably a bit more than just friends. The crowd were mixtures of fashion kids from Hongjoong’s department, some theater geeks from his club, and computer nerds like Yeosang and San. No judgement, though. In the end they were all the art school kids; the weirdos. 

“Do you think he’d be on the third floor?” San suggested.

They headed up another floor, and the music continued to blare from a different set of speakers. Only one of the apartments were filled to the entrance, the other only a dispersed crowd standing around with drinks in their hands. They walked in and a man with blue hair raised his arm from the back of the room, waving at the three. Yeosang approached them, San and Jongho following behind, slipping themselves through small groups of people. The apartment had off-white walls, dim yellow lights helping with vision, vents hanging from the ceiling, visibly painted over with the same paint as the walls. Most of the furniture had been pushed off to the walls, making the space look bigger, floors of wooden panels stretched all the way to the kitchen. The crowd sat on a couch near the corner of the apartment, as if a VIP section separated from the rest of the crowd, a nearby coffee table topped with questionable substances and red party cups.

“You made it,” the blue-haired man smiled. The taller man who was sitting next to him stood up, greeting Yeosang with a shoulder bump. “Did you bring the vodka?”

Yeosang reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small but heavy glass bottle. The crowd wooed, making Yeosang smile softly. He placed it on the table and the taller man popped it open, pouring it into a cup and handing it to the blue-haired man before pouring a cup for himself. 

“Thanks Yeo,” the taller raised his cup. 

“Hey no biggie,” Yeosang walked to the back of the couch that they were sitting on and whispered to Seonghwa from behind. The blue-haired man nodded at the other two.

“Enjoy the party!” 

“Thanks,” San and Jongho smiled politely. Jongho wondered if they should walk away to leave Yeosang alone, but San walked away with no hesitation, so Jongho trailed behind him, watching as the tall guy joked around with Yeosang, making him laugh. 

San stepped aside at the entrance, reaching into his pockets for mint strips. Jongho stood with him. “We’re leaving Yeosang alone?”

“Oh don’t worry, he’ll find us later. He just needs something from Seonghwa. That’s the tall guy. Bluebird there’s Hongjoong. They’re a different crowd.”

“I thought you’re friends with the fashion kids,” Jongho smirked, crossing his arms.

“The poor freshmen and sophomores,” San emphasized. “Not the rich kids who hire actual models for their photoshoots. Anyway, want a mint strip? It’s laced though.”

“What?”

“THC strips. They’re kinda the in thing now. I wanna quit smoking, this is a good alternative.”

“Oh,” Jongho replied. He took one, thinking maybe he needed to get a bit high, despite never actually being high, or at least he believed he never was. It was like eating a regular mint strip, but something in his brain did twitch a little. The two headed out to join the dancing crowd, laughing at every small thing. After a while Jongho tapped San’s shoulder, telling him that he’s going to get a drink, and San just nodded, too busy grinding with some random girl, hooting into the crowd. Jongho laughed again, his face flushed. At the booze table Jongho scanned the bottles; whiskey, tequila mixes, beer, beer, questionable wine bottles. No water. Jongho decided to go with a Corona bottle, cracking it open with a cap popper. He chugged a bit, looking around. His eyes catch onto a familiar figure hovering over a girl in a tight black dress, the skirt riding up her thighs. Their mouths were latched onto each other, the boy’s hand on her hips, bringing it closer to him, the girl’s hand in his hair. Jongho stopped chugging, his jaw hanging for a few seconds before his pupils darted elsewhere. He glanced over again to confirm the owner of the blond hair and bomber jacket, then went back into the crowd, leaving the beer bottle on the table.

Jongho sighed when he couldn’t see San in the crowd, and asked around for where the restroom was. He felt the blood run through his system as he peed into the bowl, his eyes focusing on the yellow liquid, his neck feeling sore. His thoughts went to Yeosang, in a position he never thought he’d seen him in. A part of him was jealous, but another just felt like he was left out again. Of course, his friends are Chicago kids now. They have their own lives, and Jongho was just visiting. The boy felt himself sober up as his hands touched the cold water running down the tap. He wiped his eyes with cold finger tips, trying to freshen up. As he walked out, he bumped into the familiar figure again; blond, bomber jacket, gorgeous.

“Hey! Where’d you been?” Yeosang asked.

“Oh just, around,” Jongho replied. “W-what about you?”

Yeosang started giggling. “Oh you’d have no idea. Wait I need to piss. Come,” he pulled Jongho by the wrist back into the restroom. He closed the door and locked it. Jongho didn’t know where to look when Yeosang unzipped his pants and started peeing, so he went to the other side of the restroom and started down the bathtub. The restroom was an awkward triangle shape, one tip edged off to make the door, the sink and toilet bowl on one straight side and the bathtub and shower on the other straight side, a window looking out to the street at Jongho’s shoulder height. The yellowing walls peeled, obviously one of the less concerned areas of the refurbishment. 

Yeosang started giggling again. “So there was this weird rabbit, ya know? He had this pocket watch thing and he was running out the room so I followed it and stuff, then next thing I knew I was out of the doors. I went back in and the rabbit was like haha, fools on you I never went out, good thing you have your jacket, and I’m like you little shit, I’m going to make skewers out of you, so I chased it again, but then I got tired and got back here to pee.”

Jongho wondered if Yeosang was joking or if he actually was lucid. He looked over his shoulder when after hearing the flush, and turned around when he saw that the boy was just smiling to himself, humming as he washed his hands.  _ Okay, he’s lucid,  _ Jongho confirmed to himself. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine and dandy. You know, I think Led Zeppelin had probably been in this building before.” Yeosang’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I saw his autograph scribbled somewhere.”

“Come on, we don’t want people to be waiting,” Jongho said. No one was waiting outside the restroom. They walked around to look for San, or at least Jongho was, pulling Yeosang along while he smiled at random strangers, greeting them in Korean, slurring his  _ annyeonghaseyo _ . A random girl came to Yeosang, grabbing him by the waist, making him dance, and he followed along, head nodding to the loud music. Jongho rolled his eyes at the sight, making him set eyes on San at the other side of the room, talking to a tall boy with big bright eyes and a round nose, hair a washed out pink shade. Jongho made his way to San, looking over his shoulders once in a while to make sure he doesn’t lose Yeosang. When he was an earshot away, Jongho called for the boy, who waved in reply.

“San, I think Yeosang’s on acid,” Jongho told, concern in his voice. 

“Oh yea, that’s what he was getting from Seonghwa. He likes his psychedelics. Jongho, this is Yunho, Yunho, Jongho.”

“Hi,” the tall boy greeted. 

“Hey,” Jongho greeted back. “So um, it’s not something to be worried about?”

“Yea yea, he has it under control most of the time. But it’s good that you’re looking out for him. But uh,” San started to look uncomfortable, as if just remembering something.

“What?”

“Did you… see him…”

Jongho thought about Yeosang’s lips latching onto a girl he didn’t know, but shook the thought away. That’s Yeosang’s personal life that he didn’t want to dwell on. “See what?”

“Okay so no,” San sighed in relief. Then he shot up again, as if he saw something. “Oh um, hey let’s go down a floor shall we? I think they have better music.”

Jongho turned to look over his shoulder but San called for him again, forcing him to look back at the other. 

“Jongho! Do you wanna come with us? I think I know some people who might want to meet you,” San smiled his dimpled smile. 

“Um okay,” Jongho mumbled. He looked up at Yunho, who was just as clueless as he was. “What about Yeosang?”

“He’ll be fine! I think I see him with a friend,” San told. He pulled on Yunho and Jongho’s sleeves, leading them out of the crowd. On the way out, Jongho looked around for Yeosang. He saw the blond in a distance making out with the girl who had pulled him aside, his hands cupping the back of her head. Jongho’s face drained. A different girl?

Yeosang looked up for a brief moment, catching eyes with Jongho. His eyes widened, his ears turning red. Jongho finally could keep his eye contact with the other, despite being on different sides of the room, but it was different. Jongho saw something he didn’t want to see, burning with confusion and anger, while Yeosang’s eyes were dilated and unfocused, unreadable, turning to scared when Jongho looked away. 

Jongho didn’t spend a long time with San and his friends before heading back to the booze table and downing shots of hennessy, thinking he probably won’t get a chance to drink anything fancy again in a while. It was lonely though. Yeosang came downstairs and tapped on Jongho’s shoulder, only to find the other wobbly and slurry, clearly not there anymore. Yeosang went to look for San, calling for the group to go home.

“You finally sober?” San asked, Jongho’s head resting on his lap in the train. It was empty except for a few late night workers. Yeosang sat on the other side of the train car, watching Jongho sleep, his eyes wide and blinking, trying to keep his vision focused.

“Yea,” he answered, voice deep and low. “I think.”

“He probably saw you, you know,” San nagged.

“I thought I could control it, really,” Yeosang started. 

“Well you’re gonna have to make up for it. Poor boy.”

“Hm,” was Yeosang’s only reply. 

The next day, they were due for a trip to the city to the Skydeck. Jongho’s head pulsed on the train ride, resting it on a pole. He had his aspirin, waiting for the miracle drug to land its effects. Yeosang looked out the window quietly, and San tried to make light conversation, giving up when the two barely responded, proceeding to tap away on his phone. The wind blew a bit harder that day, and the line up the elevator to the 103rd floor went in rounds along the building lobby. The wait made the three slightly restless, but they made their way up. As they entered the area, a photographer waited for them to pose in front of a media screen, asking them to first pose normally, then to pretend that they’re pointing at something at one corner. The three giggled as they left the line, receiving a ticket with their photo number from a staff. They saw a queue at one corner of the floor, but decided to take their own pictures with the scenery of the city first. The tall buildings beneath looked like lego blocks, except for several nearby ones that looked more regular sized than from the street. The sky past the buildings were grey and cloudy today, rain probably pouring soon. San took a group selfie with the other two, making faces at the camera, the buildings behind them looking dull but busy. They started to queue for the deck pictures, Jongho looking out at the window on his left. Yeosang followed his sight. 

“The city looks a bit boring from up here,” he commented. “And the clouds aren’t helping either.”

“It’s okay,” Jongho said. “Puts things into perspective. In the end a city’s just a concrete jungle.”

The two mused to themselves for a while, the silence between them deafening. 

“D-do you still want to live here, then?” Yeosang finally asked.

“I’m still thinking about it,” Jongho answered heavy heartedly. He thought about how his heart broke into a million pieces last night and wondered if it was worth it. If he knew what Yeosang was really like, if he knew all his secrets and his personal life, if he lived with Yeosang everyday instead of for five days and four nights, would he still want to live in Chicago? Jongho didn’t know anymore. Maybe the city was still a bit too much for him.

“Jongho, I-”

“You two good?” San hung his arms around the other two’s shoulders from behind. He glanced at the two, and they nodded. “Awesome. Look, it’s our turn.”

They first took a picture with the deck’s camera, where they stood on the edge, their backs to the glass wall. The deck was basically a glass box popping out of the building, making it feel like they were floating above Chicago. This didn’t bother Jongho as much as the rusting stairs and porch of their apartment building; it was so high up everything looked like ants from their view, as if just a picture beneath their feet, an illusion. After the deck photo, they took pictures of themselves, sitting with their legs folded as if floating above the city, and regular touristy pictures with the lego buildings behind them. Jongho was good at finding good angles, so it didn’t take them long before they were satisfied with their shots, letting others go after them. They started queueing again for the elevator ride down. Yeosang decided to go for a restroom break.

“You okay?” San quickly asked Jongho when Yeosang was out of sight.

“Yea, fine,” Jongho lied. “What’s up?”

“You saw, didn’t you?”

“Saw what?”

“Yeosang. Kissing people.”

Jongho felt his face flush, blood filling his cheeks and brain. San gasped at the change of expression.

“You did!” San looked away in disbelief. “Oh my god, that bastard.”

“I mean, if he wanted to kiss people it’s up to him,” Jongho started. “I mean, it’s his personal life, right?”

San shook his head, completely rejecting Jongho’s claims. “You’re misunderstanding. Yeosang has this bad habit when he’s on acid where he starts making out with people he gives zero fucks about. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, and suddenly his tongue is in someone’s mouth. It takes a while for him to snap out of it, too. Girls take advantage of it, is my opinion on the matter. Doesn’t stop him from taking it though.”

Jongho felt his face flush even more, hearing the words ‘his tongue is in someone’s mouth’. 

“He didn’t tell you in that ten minutes I gave you guys, did he?” San’s lips pulled on the sides, obviously disappointed.

“H-he was about to say something, I think,” Jongho muttered. “I mean, it’s okay, he doesn’t have to explain himself to me. I get it.”

“Choi Jongho, you completely wasted yourself last night. You think we don’t know the reason why?”

Jongho scratched his face. Yeosang came back, a folder in his hand. He had bought the photos they took at the entrance and on the deck; one big piece that could be slit into the makeshift frames made out of die cuts in the folder, one smaller piece of their shot on the deck, their faces looking up at the camera, big toothy grins, and another big piece consisting of four of the entrance pictures; two of them the pointing pose with graphics of them inside the skydeck building, and the other two of their normal pose, beautiful skyline pictures of Chicago keyed into the background. Jongho stared at the picture of them pointing. Yeosang was in between him and San, and while Jongho smiled brightly, laughing at the ridiculousness of his awkward arm pointing outwards at nothing, Yeosang and San had similar shocked expressions, San looking out at where they had pointed, and Yeosang had his opened mouth closed slightly with one hand, looking at Jongho. Jongho didn’t know how to feel about that. He felt seen, but he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

The three headed to Eately’s next, craving some gelato. The rain hadn’t fallen yet, and they were grateful for it. The wind didn’t bother them, knowing it could be worse. Chicago’s Eately branch was a two story facade, a big market embedded into one of the shop buildings on East Ohio Street. It was simply decorated to emphasize the plentiful kiosks set inside, the walls on the outer side of the shop full glass to let in light. From the entrance, the left was the Italian dry market, and the right a small food court. Two escalators sat in the middle of the space, one going up and the other coming down. On the second floor was the wet market, butchers selling meat and cheeses. They went to the gelato kiosk that sat on one end of the food court. Jongho settled for a scoop each of tiramisu and coconut, while San wanted to try the pistachio, paired with coffee. Yeosang went with a scoop each of chocolate, vanilla, and cherry. San ended up hating the pistachio, letting Jongho scoop into his cup for coffee ice cream while he finished Jongho’s coconut ice cream. Rain suddenly poured outside, making the boys groan.

“What now?” Yeosang mumbled.

“Now…” San bit on the tip of his plastic spoon. “Now, we talk. Yeosang, I think you have something to say.”

“Huh?”

“No, I mean, he doesn’t,” Jongho stuttered, turning to Yeosang. “San already told me.”

“You what?” Yeosang gasped.

“Not like you were going to!” San defended himself. “He should know!”

“I was going to handle it,” Yeosang whined. Jongho thought Yeosang looked cute whining. 

“It’s okay, we all have guilty pleasures,” Jongho tried to assure them. “I, for instance, take pride in crying at every Violet Evergarden episode.”

The two fell silent before bursting into laughter. Jongho chuckled along, glad he could ease the situation. They dropped the topic and started gossipping about old classmates and new ones. The rain let out, and they made their way back to the apartment. That night, Jongho packed his things. Tomorrow he’ll be catching a flight back to his hometown, where Jongho went to prep college with Yeosang and San. The feeling of excitement of the big city was starting to wear off as he started to get familiar with the roads and trains. He craved the familiarity of his family home, waking up to dew drops instead of the smell of asphalt. Yeosang’s deep house music played in the background, while San was bundled in a thick comforter on their mattress, sleeping. When he was done, he went out of the room, glancing at Yeosang on his laptop on the desk outside. He went to the fridge and browsed, choosing the orange juice instead of the beer this time. He needed to take a step away from the alcohol. He then sat on the comforter on the floor, browsing shows on their Hulu. Yeosang took a glance of Jongho, a roll of tobacco on the edge of his fingertips. 

“Hey, do you want a picture from the Skydeck?”

They took another look at the pictures, spreaded them on the floor. They chuckled, looking at the picture of them pointing at what now appeared to be a view outside of the cartoon version of the Skydeck Tower. Yeosang took out his craft mat, x-acto knife, and metal ruler. He expertly cut all the pictures into separate pieces, Jongho watching as his long delicate fingers flew across the mat. Jongho took one of the posed pictures, and another of the normal pose, one where the sky in the background was orange, the buildings a black silhouette. He took a picture of the one where they stood on the deck with his phone, then observed it on his screen, zooming into Yeosang’s face, his smile toothy and cute. Jongho smiled to himself before putting his phone away, Yeosang keeping the rest of the prints back in his desk drawer. 

“Let’s go for a midnight swim,” Yeosang suggested.

“Wouldn’t it be cold?” Jongho asked. 

“Do you want to live in the windy city or not?” Yeosang challenged. Jongho couldn’t say no. 

The two stripped off their tops by the pool, cannonballing into the pool.

“You sure this is okay?” Jongho asked when they came up for air. 

“They have parties at this pool all the time, we just don’t have to make too much noise. San and I and our friends had done it before,” Yeosang reassured, his skin pink from the cold, blond frizzy hair slapped against his forehead. Jongho pushed aside his own wet dark hair before going back under. They held breath holding competitions and diving competitions, seeing who could go lower in the pool. Jongho splashed water at Yeosang when he cheated the breath holding competition on the second round, and Yeosang laughed. Tired, they sat on the edge of the pool, their arms folded on the tiles. 

“Is it fun? Psychedelics?” Jongho asked.

“Hm, yea,” Yeosang smiled softly. “At times it’s just an escape. A moment where you don’t have to completely be in tune with your consciousness. I don’t do it often though. It does fuck you up. I get flashes sometimes now, randomly, when I’m tired.”

“Oof,” Jongho commented. Yeosang nodded, turning so his head rested on the tile instead, his eyes looking up at the sky.

“It’s definitely an experience, if you’re ready for the risks.”

Jongho followed suit and turned to look at the sky. “I never know when I’m ready for the risks. The risk of moving here. The risk of doing something unpredictable.”

“It won’t be too bad, you know, transferring to Columbia,” Yeosang suggested. “It’s only been a year. I’m sure the credits will still count.”

“My parents are pretty happy with the tuition though. It’s definitely not 60k a year.”

Yeosang hummed to himself, remembering his tragic student loan. “Still, there’s better opportunities here. Better internships, better jobs. And, I’m here.”

Jongho’s face flushed, turning to glance at Yeosang who was looking at him now. Their eyes catch, Yeosang holding it the best he can, Jongho too nervous to look away. Yeosang’s delicate fingers touched Jongho’s chest, tracing it down to his abdomen. Jongho pulled back at the cold touch.

“I-I like you,” Jongho stuttered. Yeosang’s eyes widened at the statement, then softened, smiling.

“I know that,” Yeosang chuckled.

“Y-you do?”

“Choi Jongho, you’ve had a crush on me since first year of prep,” Yeosang teased. Jongho felt exposed, but relieved at the same time. 

“How did you know though?”

“At first it was the obvious stares. It was creepy, but then you did everything I asked from you. I was surprised you didn’t bring me some Iowa weed. I was worried you were losing interest in me.” Jongho felt his face go bright red at the statement, Yeosang’s cheeks flushed as well as he said it. Jongho took every courage he had to ask. 

“Do you like me too?”

“I do.”

Jongho felt jitters as he heard Yeosang’s voice, his entire face full of electrolytes dancing on his skin. The two came closer, closing their eyes as they turned their heads to touch each other’s lips. The kiss was soft and warm, wet with chloroform water. The two giggled, heading back to their apartment, hand latched onto each other. The next morning, Jongho woke up feeling like all the weight on his shoulders had been let go. San made scrambled eggs for breakfast, and Jongho sat in front of the TV munching it. Yeosang got out of the shower, glancing at Jongho. They smiled at each other before Yeosang headed into the bedroom. Jongho could fly if he wanted to. 

They went to the airport by Uber, sick of the L. When they reached there, San and Yeosang waited for Jongho to check in before saying their goodbyes. 

“Are you planning to come by often?” San asked, his dimples etched in his cheeks again.

“Yea, we’ll see,” Jongho grinned, glancing at Yeosang who smiled back.

“Something happened between you two and I’m happy to see it,” San teased. “You know what? I think I need to use the restroom. Text me when… when I’m done using the restroom.” He winked at Jongho.

“No more acid,” Jongho warned Yeosang. The blond groaned. “You think I’m playing? Do you really want to live your life sucking faces with strangers? They could give you cooties.”

Yeosang laughed. “Okay, I’ll try to stay away from it at big old mansion parties where a hundred girls are pulling me at the wrist. Can’t promise you ‘bout using it at home though.”

Jongho sighed. He’s with a Chicago kid now, conservative rules don’t apply to the game. Plus, a long distance relationship means he has little control. He’s had little control over risk-taking Animation major Kang Yeosang from the get go, so it should be no different now. 

"Maybe you can come to Ames too, you know, if I don't get to transfer. Do you like horse riding?"

"That actually sounds like fun," Yeosang smiled. Jongho felt his heart jump out of his chest; how gorgeous can he be? He held onto Yeosang’s hand tight, still too shy to kiss him in public. Yeosang smiled and pecked Jongho’s cheek. 

“Have a safe flight.”

Back home, everything felt like a wash of nostalgia. It had been less than a year, but the air brought Jongho back to his childhood times, his small feet playing ball with his neighbors on the tar road in front of his house, and the time he scraped his knee on the very sidewalk he stood on now. He had texted an old professor and asked if he could use the college darkroom to develop some of his films, and he welcomed him warmly. Jongho watched the pictures appear on the glossy paper, already missing Yeosang’s apple cheeks.

Later that night, Jongho browsed Columbia College of Chicago’s website, looking for transfer applications. Tired of looking at all the processes for admission, he started to scroll Instagram. San reposted the picture of him in front of The Chicago Tribune on his account. Jongho rolled his eyes watching San’s story, seeing the cups of coffee on the counter of his favorite chic cafe. On Yeosang’s account, he saw that he had made two posts. One was a selfie that the three of them had taken on the Skydeck, making silly faces. The caption read “come back soon ❤️”. The other was of a familiar head, hair blowing in the wind, looking out at the blue water of the lake back at Wilson Beach. Yeosang had cut Jongho off just below the shoulders. Jongho felt a smile appear on his face, using his finger tips to stop himself. The caption read “chicago chique”. 


End file.
